


The day Aziraphale discovered marshmallows

by HolRose



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Food Kink, M/M, Marshmallows, Pining Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-30 21:28:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21146900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose
Summary: We know that Crowley slept through most of the 19th century but we are told that he did get up in 1832.





	The day Aziraphale discovered marshmallows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SecondHandNews](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondHandNews/gifts).

> This is for SecondHandNews. The fact that Aziraphale was excited when he first experienced marshmallows is mentioned in the latest chapter of the lovely work Love is a Wild Thing (Ineffably Yours Part II) I read this and couldn't get this idea out of my head so I had to write it. It was also partly inspired by a post on Facebook about how Crowley stares so intently at Aziraphale while he is eating when they have their first lunch at The Ritz together in Episode 1 of the series. If you look, he really, really does. So I thought I might combine the two ideas...  
Edited to add, I don’t know how to do a link to the story I quoted above in the ‘Notes’ field so sorry about that!

**Soho, 1832**

Crowley stood at the door of the bookshop, the sign behind the glass of the front door was flipped to ‘closed’. The hours of opening of the shop would definitely be best described as idiosyncratic, a small notice was attached to the window ‘explaining’ them. Those wishing to decipher it would be well advised to take a short course in logic and metaphysics. Crowley shaded his eye with his hand against the glass and peered in, his other hand hung by his side, a small bag tied with gold ribbon dangling from it. A shadowy figure was definitely moving about inside, so the angel _was_ at home. He tapped at the glass, continuing to peer into the gloom of the shop. The figure paused in its movements and a polite voice was heard faintly within its depths,

‘I’m terribly sorry but I am closed, could you return at another time please?’

Crowley tapped at the glass again and then rattled the letterbox for good measure.

The shadowy figure stopped whatever it was doing in the back of the shop and walked towards the door, resolving itself into Aziraphale, wearing his usual cream coat and brown trousers, with a tartan cravat at his neck, a rather peevish expression on his sweet face. He opened the door and began to speak in clipped tones.

‘As I said…. Oh, Crowley! What an unexpected surprise!’ The angel’s face lit up with a beautiful sunny smile and his voice became warm, ‘my dear fellow, do please, come in. What brings you to London?’

‘Just passing, Angel, thought I’d drop by, see how the book selling thing is going for you. Selling many books, are you?’

He looked around the shop, admiring the stacked shelves and general clutter. There were books everywhere.

‘Selling many? Ah, er, well, not _actually selling_ that many, er, books, as such…’ Aziraphale tailed off. ‘Never mind that, dear boy, it is very good to see you. Would you like some tea?’

‘If you like, Angel.’

Crowley smiled, this was the Aziraphale he had missed and had been thinking about. Well, if he was to be entirely honest with himself, there was always a part of his mind that wondered about the angel and what he was up to. He was always pleased to see him, even if there was a nippy little comment afterwards, the initial greeting always had that warm tone, and his eyes, his eyes always said ‘welcome’ even when his mouth was talking about foul fiends.

‘Splendid,’ Aziraphale looked pleased, ‘I have some lovely china tea that I bought from Jackson’s of Piccadilly just the other day.’

He hurried off to the back shop where the tiny kitchen with its small stove was situated. Crowley sauntered after him, stopping to look at some of the older volumes on his way past.

‘You have been working hard Angel, lots of good stuff here.’ Crowley walked into the back shop and sat on the small velvet sofa that lay along its back wall.

‘Yes,’ said Aziraphale, busying himself with kettle, pot and cups, ‘I attend regular book sales in London and across Europe, there is so much fascinating material out there.’

The tea things were laid out on the table and the angel poured for them both into the dainty cups.

‘Got something for you, Angel.’

Crowley passed the bag with the gold ribbon across to Aziraphale, whose eyes lit up.

‘For me? How very kind of you! What is it?’ He took the bag and looked at it, ‘What a pretty ribbon.’

‘Better open it and find out.’ said Crowley, taking a sip of his tea. He put his teacup down and leaned his elbow on the arm of the sofa, taking his chin in his hand, fingers resting against his lips. He stared across at the angel intently.

‘Oh, sweetmeats, how delightful! I haven’t seen these before, what are they?’ He placed the bag on the table and inspected the contents of the box. The box was rectangular and not very deep and contained rows of lozenge-shaped sweets coloured alternately dusty pink and white. Aziraphale lifted one out and inspected it.

‘It’s called Pâte de Guimauve, they make it out of the root of the marsh mallow plant. It’s supposed to be delicious, thought you might like to try it.’

Crowley had been told by someone in Paris how wonderful these things were and he knew that they were all the rage at salons in the French capital at the moment. Of course he had thought of Aziraphale immediately and sought out the shop as soon as he could.

‘Ooh, I do enjoy trying new things, thank you, my dear.’

Aziraphale’s eyes shone as he raised the small, soft rhombus to his mouth and took a delicate bite. He gave a little ‘mmph’ noise and rolled his eyes, chewing slowly. Crowley watched intently, pupils wide behind his dark glasses. Aziraphale swallowed and licked his lips. Crowley swallowed and his own lips twitched behind his fingers.

‘That is simply _scrumptious_.’ He took another bite, giving a little moan of pleasure as he began to chew, enjoying the sweetness and light, fluffy texture.

Crowley continued to stare, mesmerised by the sight of an angel transported to heavenly radiance by the devilishly clever combination of plant root, sugar, eggs and water. Aziraphale popped the last piece of sweet into his mouth, rolling his eyes again as he savoured it. He looked like a renaissance painting, his hair haloed with the light from the lamp behind him, face in a state of bliss that owed nothing to religious ecstasy and everything to epicurean delight. Crowley lived for these moments, loved his angel when he was like this. Of course it was a form of self-imposed torment, he knew that, it only made the whole ‘I’m in love with a celestial being I can’t even touch’ thing much, much worse, but it didn’t stop him from repeatedly coming back with lovely things for the angel to eat and watching, always watching, his body tense, face almost fierce with endless _hunger_.

‘What made you think I would like these?’ said Aziraphale after finishing his mouthful. Crowley looked at the pink and white sweets, plump in their box and then back at the happy cream and rose face of the angel and smiled.

‘Oh, I just had a feeling you would appreciate them.’

‘Well, they are delightful, unusual but so lovely.’

Ye gods, he was licking his fingers now, delicate as a cat. Crowley shifted on the sofa, crossing his legs, aware that he ought to leave now before how he was feeling became too obvious.

‘Better get on Angel, glad you liked the, uh, things, thanks for the tea.’ He stood up and put his hands in his pockets.

‘Must you go, Crowley? It seems like you have only just arrived.’ Aziraphale looked up at him, crestfallen.

‘Better had, you know how it is, things to do, people to tempt.’

He walked out into the main shop, Aziraphale following behind.

‘Well, if you must, you must. Do come back again soon, my dear, and we can have a proper conversation, maybe open a bottle or two.’

‘That’d be good, Angel, I’d like that.’

‘And thank you again, Crowley, I have always said that you really are…’

‘Don’t say it, don’t ever say it, I’m not, you know I’m not, not ever,’ he cut across and lunged for the door, then turned,

‘But it is good to see you Angel, it’s always good to see you.’

And then he was gone.


End file.
